


From Dust

by Hyperion327



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dark Peter Parker, Found Family, Grief/Mourning, Harley Keener Joins the Avengers, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Non-Explicit Sex, Peter survives the Snap, Post-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), The Avengers Stay Together, Time Skips
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-04
Updated: 2021-01-04
Packaged: 2021-03-14 04:27:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28539588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hyperion327/pseuds/Hyperion327
Summary: In a world where Peter Parker did not turn to dust on the ruined world of Titan, the Avengers attempt to bring back Earth from the brink of complete collapse, while also dealing with their own agonies. None of them take it harder than Peter, who has lost everyone he's ever loved, but when he meets Tony's other ad hoc ward, one Harley Keener, he begins to wonder if there isn't a light at the end of the tunnel yet.
Relationships: Harley Keener/Peter Parker, Minor or Background Relationship(s), Pepper Potts/Tony Stark
Comments: 9
Kudos: 80





	From Dust

**Author's Note:**

> Wow, did I spend a TON of time on the MCU wiki and rewatching parts of _Infinity War_ and _Endgame_ for this! This is my first foray into writing MCU fic, so please leave your honest thoughts. 
> 
> Suggested Listening  
>  _Inch of Dust_ \- Future Islands  
>  _Earth_ \- Sleeping at Last  
>  _Hand of God_ \- Jon Bellion  
> Pretty much the entirety of the _Folklore_ and _Evermore_ albums from Taylor Swift.

The question that will always be asked, the same one every time it comes up, is a pretty simple one. _Where were you when they vanished?_ Harley is in class, in Mrs. Lewis’ second period English. It’s warm, probably one of the last _just_ warm days before summer comes into full swing. One moment she’s there, reading aloud from her well-loved copy of Shakespeare’s complete works, the next there is a cloud of rapidly fading grey-brown dust curling through the air. Instants later, four more people in the classroom vanish. 

There is confusion, terror, screams of horror. It takes thirty seconds before that’s all you can hear, the screams. Cries of names, exclamations of shock, even expletive-laden streams that suddenly cut off as the utterers themselves turned to ash. From the vanishing to the blaring of hundreds of phones as the government declared a state of emergency is closer to ten minutes than fifteen, and Harley can’t be bothered to give a good goddamn.

He nearly forgets his jacket, and does forget his backpack, in the scramble to his busted old car that he’d managed to work up enough money for just in time for his sixteenth birthday. He rips his way out of the school parking lot in the lead of a mad dash of students and faculty all desperate to find their loved ones, driving through the chaotic streets of the normally tranquil Rose Hill until he reaches the middle school. Parents are already everywhere in the parking lot, sprinting into the building and screaming for their children, and he quickly joins the crowd. 

_“Abbie! Abbie Keener!”_ He bellows, cupping his hands over his mouth to project. _“Abigail Louise Keener!”_

When it becomes clear that he isn’t going to get anywhere just screaming for his little sister, Harley joins the stampede of concerned parents, breaking out in a sprint down the long hallway he knows leads to Abbie’s classroom. When he skids to a stop outside the door, breathless and terrified, he finds the room empty but for one woman, Abbie’s sixth grade teacher, Miss Corlew. 

“Where is she?! Where’s Abbie Keener?!” Harley frantically demands, rushing over to the woman, who sits at her desk with shock on her face and tears running down her face. “Miss Corlew!” He barks. 

Finally, the woman seems to come back to herself, her eyes focusing on Harley for the first time. “She… she just… I don’t…” 

He stumbles backwards like he’s been punched, desperately shaking his head back and forth as grief closes around his heart like a stranglehold. “No. No, she’s not- Abbie didn’t…” 

Harley falls backwards, slumping onto the low little tables where the students would be seated in class, and looks down. There, on a nametag that’s been taped to the surface, in his sister’s messy cursive, is the name _Abbie Keener,_ accented by drawings of flowers and little stick figures under the sun. 

Immediately, tears spring to his eyes, and the sound that comes out of Harley’s throat is a roar, raw and animal and more agonized than any sound he has ever heard, so powerful that he disassociates from it for a moment, wondering where it originated from. 

He hears Miss Lewis get up from her desk, her voice still toneless with total shock. “I… have to go… my husband… mother…” 

And like that, he is alone with nothing but the sucking void of his grief. 

**+**

The _Benatar_ drifts listlessly through the infinite void of space, thousands of light-years above the galactic disk, offering Peter a stunning view of the Milky Way as he waits to die. At least that’s something, he supposes, considering he’s had nothing but Quill’s old person music to listen to and weird space rations to eat for the last three weeks. 

He swallows thickly as he presses the record button on Tony’s broken helmet. “Hey, May. It’s been three weeks since… y’know. Mr. Stark’s finally gotten better from the infection, just in time to, uh… to tell us that we’ve got about seventeen hours of oxygen left. Listen, whatever’s happening down on Earth, I’m sorry. I-” He pauses, tears welling and his throat closing against his will. 

“I failed. We all failed, and now so many people are gone. God, I hope you aren’t. May, please, if you see this, I want you to know that- that I’m okay. I’m okay dying out here. Mr. Stark is here, and Nebula’s been really nice, you know, all things considered. I want you to know that I didn’t die alone, that I was with good people, people who cared about me, and that…” Peter finally sobs, “I’m so sorry I couldn’t come home to you. I’m so sorry, May.” 

He presses the stop button, and leans back, thudding his head against the bulkhead and letting himself sob into the increasingly stale air. Of course, just at that moment, Tony appears, still pale and gaunt from the long battle with the infection he contracted from his wounds. Immediately he swoops in, plopping himself next to Peter and wrapping an arm around his shoulders. 

“I know, kid, I know.” He murmurs. “I’m sorry, I should’ve never brought you on this. I should’ve jettisoned your butt back into the Hudson all the way from orbit. You should be back with your friends and your aunt, not dying for an old man’s mistakes a gazillion miles from home.” 

Peter shakes his head. “No, Mr. Stark,” He croaks, trying to halfass a smile, “I was supposed to be here. You and Nebula would’ve killed each other after a week if it weren’t for me.” 

“That’s probably true, but it might’ve been better than what’s coming for us.” Tony bleakly chuckles. 

“We’ll just drift off, sir. Like going to sleep.” 

“After spending plenty of time choking, seizing, panicking…” 

“Mr. Stark, shut up.” 

Outside, a golden light begins to flicker.

**+**

**Three Weeks Earlier**

The phone lines and the internet are still down. Chaos has broken out across Rose Hill as people panic, desperately searching for loved ones. All Harley can do is sit in the last booth in the row at the diner where his mom worked for as long as he can remember, numbly picking at the sandwich that his mother’s boss, a kind but stern woman named Kelly with dark skin, a large cloud of grey hair, and smile lines around her mouth, made for him. 

He had watched the grainy security footage without reaction. One moment, his mother was there, chatting happily with a regular customer, the next they were both piles of dust that faded into complete nothingness in only seconds. Next to him, Kelly was equally stoic, though tears shimmered in her eyes, before she took a deep breath and smiled softly at him, offering him some food. 

Now, as he finishes the last few bites, he thinks on what he’ll do next. Harley has no other family left, and certainly no means of keeping the house. His options are extraordinarily limited, by which he means there’s only _one_ realistic option for him. The cell phone service may be completely overwhelmed, but he has a phone that he knows for a fact will work in the middle of the apocalypse. 

Tucked safely in a hidden little alcove in the garage where he’s tinkered on countless projects over the years, including a certain restoration project for a mechanic named Tony, is a satellite-linked StarkPhone. It was a gift from Tony Stark for his sixteenth birthday, along with the promise that either he or Pepper were only a call away if anything ever happened. Harley sighs, hoping to God that Tony will answer.

“Harley, sweetheart?” Kelly’s rough voice breaks from behind him as she sets a hand on his shoulder. “Do you need somewhere to stay? I got a spare bed, it ain’t much, but it’s somethin’.” 

He looks up at her, grasping her hand. “I don’t know, ma’am. I… might have someone I can go to, but I don’t know if he’s…”

She nods. “I got you. Well, if you can’t reach your friend, then you come over to my place, alright? I’ll fix us a proper supper, make that roast you always like to have.” 

“Thank you, ma’am.” Harley smiles, genuinely touched by the gesture. 

He leaves, nervousness ticking into his chest as he takes in the sight of crashed cars and a burning house, wondering just how many airplanes have fallen from the sky, how many pileups have happened on highways across the world, how much chaos is breaking out. Harley pulls into the driveway of his home, and makes his way through the garage that Tony Stark has furnished with countless SI tools and materials over the years.

Digging out the phone that Tony gave him four months prior, he turns it on, the Stark Industries logo flashing on its transparent screen before unlocking for him with a biorhythm verification more advanced than anything on the market. He flicks open the contacts, where there’s only three put in. There’s Tony, Pepper, and FRIDAY, Tony’s AI who also apparently runs a whole bunch of stuff. 

Harley takes a deep breath, and presses the dial button next to Tony’s contact. 

**+**

When Pepper’s phone starts to blare through the car’s display as she’s driving up the Deegan to the Upstate Facility, she scrambles to answer, hoping against hope that it’s Tony. Instead, the screen displays a photo of their last visit to Tennessee, of her and Tony each with their arms slung around Harley’s lean frame, celebrating his sixteenth birthday. _REDIRECTED FROM TONY’S CELL PHONE - HARLEY KEENER,_ it reads. A mixture of bitter disappointment and relief that Harley is alive floods her as she accepts the call. 

“Harley?” She asks. “Harley, are you okay?” 

_‘Pepper? I called Tony. Oh, God, is he…?’_

“I don’t know, it’s… it’s a long story. What’s happening, are you alright?” 

There’s a long pause on the other end of the line, and something that’s suspiciously like sniffling, before he answers with a broken whisper. _‘No.’_

“God, Harley…”

 _‘My- my mom and Abbie they… they’re-’_ Harley cuts off, too choked up. 

Pepper feels like she’s been punched in the gut. She’s only met Eleanor and Abbie Keener a handful of times, as Harley has usually visited them in New York more than they’ve gone to Tennessee, but they were lovely, and Harley was devoted to them both. Now, along with who knows how many billions of others, they’re dust. 

“Sweetheart, I’ll be there as soon as I can.” She says, determination in her voice. “Hold on, I’m coming for you.” 

_‘Okay.’_

The line goes dead, and Pepper guns it, the car roaring as she tears along the road like a bullet, and FRIDAY comes online through the car speakers. _‘Boss Lady, I’m warming up the backup quinjet now. It’ll be ready for takeoff by the time you get there.’_

“Thank you, FRIDAY. Can you get Harley’s location from the call and program the autopilot for it?”

_‘Already done. You’ll just need to strap in and fire the jet up.’_

True to the AI’s word, Pepper arrives at the upstate site to find the quinjet’s engines on standby, ready to launch at a word. Just as she parks the car, her phone begins to ring, and this time it’s _JAMES RHODES_ that flashes across her screen. 

“Rhodey, thank God.” She says as she answers. “Are you alright?” 

_‘We just got a signal in Pep, it’s bad. Thanos… he did what he set out to do.’_

“I know. It- It got Happy. Pretty much all of SI’s board, as well. Listen, who’s… uh, who’s left?” 

Rhodes pauses for a long time, his voice thick with emotion when he does speak. _‘Steve, Nat, Bruce, Thor, that raccoon guy that came down with Quill.’_

“That’s _it?!”_ She demands incredulously. 

_‘Yeah, Pepper. It’s… fucking Christ, it’s a goddamn disaster. We’re on our way back to base, have you headed there yet?’_

Pepper nods even though she’s alone, taking a breath to steady herself. “Yeah, I’m already here. Listen, I have to go get someone, so I might not be here when you all arrive.” 

_‘Who do you have to get?’_

“Do you remember Harley, that kid who helped Tony when he was on the run during the Mandarin incident? He’s dropped by New York a few times? He lost his entire family, and he’s got no one, so I’m taking the spare quinjet down to Tennessee to get him. I won’t be more than a couple of hours.” She answers.

_‘God, that poor kid. Alright, you go get him. Our ETA is a little over three hours, so we might beat you back or not. Take care, Pep.’_

“You too, Rhodey.” 

The line goes dead, and Pepper boards the quinjet, beelining for the cockpit and strapping in. After FRIDAY assists in a quick preflight checklist, they take off, autopilot guiding the jet at maximum speed over the long line of the Appalachian mountains as they curl along the East Coast. Turning to a side console that doubles as an outside feed, Pepper sets it to a national news feed, only to be unable to stomach more than a few minutes of the panicked coverage, which has confirmed that a massive chunk of the federal government has been lost, including the entire executive branch. No one knows who the President is anymore. 

After just over an hour, the quinjet begins to descend as it crosses into Tennessee airspace, and Pepper steels herself for whatever shape Harley is going to be in. Not long after, the VTOL engines kick in as the plane comes down in a field not far from the Keener property. After FRIDAY sets the plane to standby, she disembarks and fishes out her phone to call Harley, but he appears at the edge of the field, a large duffle bag slung over his shoulder and agony painted on his face. 

Pepper waits until he’s close enough before she throws all care to the wind and runs to embrace him. Harley’s got a couple of inches of height on her, so she ends up folded into his chest as he clings to her like a man adrift at sea who’s just been given a liferaft. 

_“Thank God you’re okay.”_ He whispers, tears running down his face. 

She nods into his chest, barely holding back her own cries. “Let’s get you back to New York, sweetheart.”

The flight back to upstate and the facility there is passed in dead silence, until, when FRIDAY announces that they’re in New York airspace, Harley speaks up. “You said you don’t know about Tony. What did you mean?” 

“You saw about that ship that attacked New York?” She asks, and he nods. “Tony left on it. Got taken offworld, I have no clue where he is or what’s happened to him. Peter went with him.” 

“Peter? The kid that Tony decided to make into a superhero?”

Pepper smiles wryly. “He was already a hero, Tony just helped make him super. You’d like him, I think. It’s hard not to.” 

Fifteen minutes later, the Avengers’ base comes into view, with the primary quinjet parked on its launchpad. After touchdown, Harley grabs his duffle and follows Pepper into the residence area, where she directs him into one of the spare rooms, promising to leave him to get settled while she finds the others. Inside the main study, the surviving Avengers are gathered around the holotable, which plays frantic news coverage from around the world. 

“Pep, thank fuck.” Rhodey sighs, quickly pulling her into a tight hug. “We’ve already got problems to deal with.” 

“What?” She asks, confused. 

“We’ve got three people all saying they’re President of the United States.” Steve explains, pulling up portraits of three different people. The first is a younger man, dashing with his dark skin, neat haircut, and brilliant smile, the second a severe looking woman in military uniform with a flawless curtain of grey hair, and the last is a quintessential elder statesman, with smile lines painting his aged face and a striking suit that’s probably outrageously expensive. 

“Adam Delauro, chairman of the National Governors’ Association and Governor of our very own New York,” He points to the young man, “Lieutenant General Clarissa Meade, Commander of NORAD, and Senate Majority Leader Lewis Conrad of Oregon. All of them have issued statements of their intent to take office.” 

Nat leans back in her chair. “The situation could fall into a civil war if we aren’t careful. Especially if one of them drops back and endorses another.” 

“Do we have a bead on their locations?” Pepper asks. “Can we see if they’re making moves?” 

“Meade is in Colorado Springs, Delauro is in Albany, and Conrad is in Detroit, he was there for some auto plant opening or something to do with a bill about cars.” She answers. “Nobody’s home in Washington, unfortunately.” 

“The question,” Steve adds, “Is who actually _is_ the President? Cause right now, it looks like there isn’t an answer.” 

“We have to assume that the line of succession has been compromised. At this point, the answer is whoever can muster up the most legitimacy in whatever’s left of the public’s view.” Rhodes answers. 

Natasha nods. “It’s chaos out there, and we need someone who can reestablish control. I say we go to Colorado Springs, and escort General Meade to DC to assume the presidency.” 

“Okay, _whoa,_ absolutely not! We are not putting up some… military junta in charge of the United States. Who are we to even endorse someone to take over?” He objects. 

“The only ones left standing, James.” She retorts. “Like it or not, we are what’s left.” 

For the first time, Thor speaks his mind, though his voice is restrained and bitter. “I agree with Natasha. We need warriors to lead us now.” 

“No.” Bruce interjects. “No, we need someone who’s been elected to lead. New York is one of the complex and difficult states to manage, and Delauro’s done well enough to get re-elected. If we’re doing this, it should be him.” 

“And what about Conrad? He’s the highest ranking member of the federal government surviving, and he’s been a senator for more than twenty years. Seniority has to count for _something_ here.” Pepper says. 

Another voice breaks from behind the cluster. “What about all of them?” They all turn to where Harley has appeared in the doorway. He pauses as they stare, before continuing. “I mean… if they all have different reasons why they _should_ be president, why not have them split the position? Then, when it’s less chaotic, we hold an election, and they can all run if they want to.” 

“That’s… actually a good idea.” Nat says. “A transitional council to run the country until we can get someone elected.” 

“We’d have to get them to agree to it, though, and set a hard date for an election. Plenty of _‘transitional’_ governments said they’d hold elections when things calmed down, but they never did.” Rhodes says. 

“That’s doable. Even if one of them didn’t, our word would still lend the other two plenty of weight.” Pepper comments. “So, we go get them? Bring them all to DC and proceed from there?” 

The group nods, making plans to split up. Pepper and Natasha will head to Colorado Springs to collect Meade, Steve and Bruce will drive up the thruway to Albany to get Delauro, and Thor and Rhodey will fly out to Detroit for Conrad. Harley, however, quietly pulls Pepper aside. 

“Take me with you.” He insists, a very distinct edge of desperation in his voice. 

“Harley, honey-”

He shakes his head. _“Please._ I cannot be alone right now.” 

She deliberates for a moment, before nodding, and gesturing to follow. Pepper leads him into a large lab space. In it are lined rows and rows of old Iron Man suits, going all the way back to the fragments of the Mark I that survived Tony’s escape from captivity. They walk down until they reach one of the more recent models. 

“This,” She says, gesturing to a mostly red suit, “Is the Mark XLVI, codenamed _Bleeding Edge._ It’s the last model that didn’t use Tony’s nanotech, and is fully integrated with FRIDAY’s systems. If you’re going to come along, you’ll be wearing this. Anything should go south, FRIDAY is under strict orders to run first and fight second. Got that, FRIDAY?” 

_‘Got it, Boss Lady.’_ The AI replies. 

“I have to wear one of Tony’s suits if I wanna come along?” Harley asks, and she nods. “Deal.” 

“I figured you’d agree.” Pepper comments with a small smile, before making her way over to a smaller silver suit, one with a distinctly female cut. “Rescue Mark IV, Tony’s birthday present to me.” She explains when he cocks his head in confusion. 

“Well,” He replies, “Seems like we need a lot of rescuing now.”

“Tony always _did_ have a knack for naming things.” She laughs. 

**+**

Getting the various claimants to agree to form a transitional authority actually goes off without a hitch. Each party gets their targets back to Washington, where the three would-be presidents make a joint declaration of the Interim State Council, agreeing to hold an emergency election for president with the already-scheduled 2018 midterms. What’s left of Congress, all one hundred and eighty-seven members, all acknowledge their authority, as does the sole surviving member of the Joint Chiefs. Similar state councils quickly pop in Japan, South Africa, Germany, and Brazil, even as China and India both fall into bloody civil wars in only a handful of days. 

Six days after the Decimation, as the news outlets have taken to calling it, a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent appears with a small, nineties-era pager device that she explains was on Nick Fury’s person before he and Maria Hill were both lost to Thanos. It has been broadcasting with enough power that it’s more accurate to describe it as blasting a signal across nearly the whole of the electromagnetic spectrum, blowing out _something_ into uncharted deep space. 

None of them can make heads or tails of the thing, nor of the strange red, blue, and gold symbol the screen keeps displaying. Even Harley’s tinkering with it reveals absolutely nothing. Three days after their adventure to Colorado, he approaches Natasha as she warms up in the base’s gym. 

“Harley.” She nods at him in acknowledgement, before resuming her yoga stances. 

“Hey, Natasha…” He trails awkwardly, and she raises an eyebrow at him. “Nat.” He quickly corrects himself. 

The Black Widow smiles at him. “Something you wanted to ask?” 

“Uh, yeah, actually.” Harley replies, rubbing sheepishly at the back of his head. “Look, it’s pretty clear that I’m probably gonna be around for awhile, and I wanna be useful, y’know? I was wonderin’ if you’d, uhm… if you’d teach me some stuff about combat.” 

She breaks from tree pose with surprise on her face. “Huh. I wouldn’t have pegged you for the type to wanna fight.” 

“I won’t be dead weight.” He vows. “If what you guys are sayin’ is true, if this is _everywhere,_ and half the universe is gone, I want a chance to protect what’s left. We probably stopped a civil war this week, and I want more. I wanna help.” 

For a moment, Natasha appraises the young man before her, no more than a boy, really. He’s thin, but quick on his feet and quicker in his brain. Harley is clearly pretty goddamned haunted, but so are all of them, and he’s got drive. The state council was _his_ idea, and it’s worked well enough to be replicated across the world. The assessment takes less than ten seconds, but it’s more than enough for Nat to draw her conclusion: Harley’s got the stuff. 

“Okay, I’ll teach you.” She declares. “But it’s gonna be awhile before we’re actually fighting, kid.” 

He nods eagerly. “What do I have to do?” 

“First things first– yoga.” 

“Yoga?” 

Natasha chuckles at the confusion in his voice. “When you’re fighting, you need to keep a constant catalogue of your body. What’s hurt, what’s not, where is everything, how can I use it to defend? Even in one of Tony’s suits, which you know he’ll insist you wear, you have to be able to know exactly what is happening everywhere within yourself. Yoga is the first step to developing that sort of awareness.” 

“So you’re teaching me yoga in order to teach me how to fight?” 

“Correct.” She answers. “When you’ve mastered your own body, you can learn how to properly engage in combat. Let’s start by going into child’s pose.” 

For two hours, Nat guides Harley through the beginner’s poses of yoga, urging him to vocalize what it is his body is feeling as he moves through contortions, teaching him the exact terms for his anatomy and the sensations. After that, she takes him into some light cardio and then into weightlifting. It’s exhausting, in the best way possible, and she pats him on the back when they’re done, the two of them sharing a commiserating smile. 

“Lunchtime, kiddo.” She declares. “I’ll make you something that always made me feel better after a workout– solyanka.”

Solyanka, as it turns out, is a Russian stew of all manner of goodies. Spicy, savory, and with just a slight sour edge, it certainly has a distinct palette on the tongue, but Harley finds that it’s a rather fortifying meal, and Natasha smiles knowingly when he asks her for seconds. 

Later, he goes to Pepper and asks her for a rundown on the suits, offering the same explanation that he did to Black Widow. Pepper, for her part, is quick to agree, and the two of them take out the Mark XLVI for a spin around the facility, allowing Harley to learn the ins and outs of controlling the suit in flight, targeting practice, and all the neat tricks that FRIDAY is capable of. 

This becomes the routine at the Avengers’ headquarters. Harley will work out with Natasha, train on the suits with Pepper and FRIDAY, and try not to give himself a panic attack by watching the news for too long. Online, lists of celebrities who either vanished in the Decimation or were subsequently killed in car crashes, plane crashes, and the other miscellaneous disasters that befell the world in the moments after it happened are practically miles long, and Harley will scroll through them until he’s sick in the stomach. 

One night, after the nightmares of his mother and sister turning to ash in his arms jolt him awake, he makes his way out into the kitchen to find Nat and Steve sitting at the dining table with a large bottle of liquor between them and shot glasses loaded with the amber liquid. Harley sits down with them, and without even questioning, Steve grabs another glass from the stack and pours him a drink. He slugs it back, the taste infinitely smoother than the shitty Captain Morgan he used to mainline at the rare backwoods bonfires during the summers in Rose Hill. 

Once they’re all good and buzzed, Pepper appears, tears running down her cheeks and clutching her tablet like it’s the only thing tethering her to the surface of the planet. “Pep?” Steve asks, immediately getting up to guide her into a seat with them. 

“I, uh…” She pauses to wipe her eyes and take a deep breath, “I just got word on Peter’s loved ones. No one made it. None of his friends, not even May Parker. The kid lost _everyone,_ and when he gets back, I’m the one who has to tell him. I’m the one who has to break that little boy’s heart.” 

None of them point out that there’s a statistically fifty percent chance that Peter didn’t make it out either, as it’s something that all of them aren’t willing to acknowledge themselves. Even Harley, who’s never _met_ Peter, is desperately rooting for him to come home, because it’s so clear that all of them have a soft spot for him, and there’s already been so much loss. It’s odd, frankly, how much he gives a damn about this person he hasn’t met. 

“Have a drink, Pepper.” Natasha says, going to pour her a shot as well, but her hand flies out to stop her. 

“I can’t.” Pepper shakes her head.

Steve makes a confused noise. “I’ve seen you keep score with _Tony_ before, why can’t you join us in just numbing the pain?” 

Her hand drifts down to clutch at her stomach, and that one act is enough on its own to inform them. Oh. _Oh, God._ A fresh set of tears begins to brew in Pepper’s eyes as the gravity of the situation sets upon them. 

“I’m… so sorry, Pep.” 

“Don’t say it, Natasha, please, I can’t hear the _I’m sorries_ until I know for sure, because if I give up, I am going to go out of my fucking mind.” She replies, her voice growing increasingly hysterical. 

Nat nods, her face solemn. “Then I won’t say it. Tony’s going to be over the moon when he gets back, you know?” 

Pepper lets out a hysterical little laugh. “I think he’s gonna faint, he doesn’t know the first thing about kids.” 

They all chuckle, feeling just the slightest bit lighter at the dawning revelation that life goes on, and the baby growing within the Avengers’ _de facto_ new leader is proof of that fact that they’ve all forgotten in the midst of so much death. Life goes on. Then, a flash of light appears in the sky outside.

**+**

Carol Danvers carries the _Benatar_ down to rest in the yard outside of the Stark Industries Upstate Facility, and the entire surviving team is there to greet them as Peter and Nebula ease a painfully thin, pallid, and _weak_ Tony down the ramp. Immediately, Steve is there to take over and help guide Iron Man.

“Couldn’t stop him,” He pants, “I lost.” 

“Tony, _we_ lost.” Steve insists. 

“Is, uh…?” 

He’s cut off as Pepper appears, throwing her arms around her wayward husband. “Oh, my God!” She cries out, tears immediately springing to her eyes. They pull back, and Tony immediately kisses her like he’s dying, pulling her close with the intent of never letting go. 

Peter, meanwhile, approaches his rescuer. “Hi, I’m Peter Parker. I… I, uh, didn’t get the chance to tell you that, cause, y’know, you were outside in space and stuff, and if I went out there I’d die, but I just wanted to thank you for not letting me die out there adrift in the universe and all that.” 

Danvers lets out a mirthful chuckle. “Hey, Peter Parker. Name’s Carol. Not a problem for saving you, it’s all in a day’s work, really.” 

Before he can respond, Pepper is there and practically choking him to death with a hug. “Hi… Mrs. Potts… can’t… breathe.” 

She pulls back, brushing the hair out of his face. “How many times have I told you to call me Pepper?” 

“And how many times have I listened?” He asks with that damned charming smile of his. 

As the team reunites together, Harley hangs back until Tony approaches him, a watery smile on his face. “Kid. I am… _so glad_ you’re okay.” He embraces his protégé. “You and Pepper were the only things on mind when I was stuck drifting in that goddamned spaceship.” 

“You, too, old man. We were going nuts wondering about you guys.” He replies. 

“Since you’re here, I have to assume-” 

“Yeah.” Harley cuts him off. “Mom and Abs both.” 

Tony’s face crumbles, and he lays a hand on Harley’s shoulder. “This is my fault. I _failed.”_

“No,” Harley objects, “This is that fucker Thanos’ fault, and absolutely no one else’s, ‘specially not yours.” 

**+**

The debrief goes about as well as can be expected. Tony, now plopped in a wheelchair with an IV in his arm to feed him the nutrients he’s desperately in need of, rants at the others in impotent fury. 

“I _told_ you, all of youse, that what we needed was a suit of armor around the world, no matter how it impacted our precious _‘freedoms’!_ I didn’t want to be right about this, goddammit, but I was!” He snarls, flinging the bowl of eggs that’s been given to him. 

“Well, that didn’t work out, did it?” Steve challenges, clearly affronted by having his own failures and mistakes in their little tiff a few years ago thrown back in his face. 

“I said we’d lose, and you said we’d do that together, too, but you weren’t there. You weren’t there to help us when we _needed_ you, so you can shove that lie right up your genetically-modified ass!” 

Peter cuts in before the argument dissolves into pure name-calling, as Tony is wont to do when he’s feeling particularly devastated. “Look, we still have to find Thanos. If there’s a chance that we can do that, we can get the stones back, and undo all of this.”

“Just like that?” Steve asks. 

Nat nods. “Look, if there’s even a chance we can find him, we owe to the half of the universe that just vanished to _try.”_

Pepper wonders if she should break the news to Peter that virtually everyone he loves is included in that half, but at the earnestness in his eyes, the raw determination to fix this colossal loss, she knows that it’ll only serve to weaken him for the confrontation with Thanos. There’s no mistaking it, Peter will demand to go, and with Tony far too weakened, they’ll need all the help they can get. That’s when Nebula speaks up, and begins telling them of Thanos’ pocket world, a paradise he refers to as _The Garden._

**+**

It’s the waiting that’s the worst part. With the proper tools, it only takes Nebula and Peter a few hours to get the _Benatar_ back in flying shape, even if her paint job is still godawful-looking. The Avengers take off, leaving Pepper and Harley alone on Earth with Tony, who’s been sedated to facilitate his recovery. 

“You didn’t tell him.” The young man remarks. “You didn’t tell Peter about his friends or his aunt.” 

She nods. “He’s going to fight a monster who, not a month ago, wiped out half the universe. Telling him that would just mess with his head, make him a liability in the fight. If there’s any goodness left in this universe, they’ll come home with those damn stones and we can fix this. We’ll _all_ get our people back.” 

But they don’t get their people back. The Avengers come back to Earth the next morning wearing the most deep-seated agony on their faces that the others have ever seen, and no one is more agonized than Peter. Later, just after lunch, Peter vanishes into a room with Tony and Pepper, and there’s a few moments of silence before a cry echoes through the facility, one even more grievously pained than the one Harley let out when he realized that he’d lost Abbie. The two adults walk out of the room looking stricken, and urge the others to leave Peter to his grief. 

Late that night, as he’s sitting in the living room eating leftover Chinese food, Harley spots Peter emerging from his bedroom, pale and with red-rimmed eyes, walking in a daze. He gets up, and walks over to the aggrieved superhero.

“Peter?” He says gently, laying a hand on his shoulder. “My name’s Harley.” 

“Y-You’re that kid who helped out Mr. Stark a few years ago, right?” Peter asks hoarsely. 

Harley nods, cracking a bare smile. “That’s me. He wanted to introduce us this summer, but a bunch of stuff happened, and then him and Pepper came down to see me for my birthday instead. Tony talks about you like you hung the moon, y’know?” 

There’s a bare spark of light in those emotionless brown eyes. “Really?”

“Really. He can’t stop talkin’ about you, _Underoos.”_ He uses the nickname that Tony accidentally let slip once when he was going on about Peter’s accomplishments, and how he and Harley were gonna get along like a house on fire when they finally met. The corner of Peter’s mouth twitches, and Harley guides him to a seat at the island in the kitchen. “You’re probably pretty hungry, aren’t you?” 

Peter nods. “I haven’t eaten since we got back this morning.” 

“I’ll make you somethin’.” Harley says. “What are you craving? We got chicken, steak, stuff for sandwiches with pretty much every lunch meat you can think of, and a frankly disgusting amount of leftovers. Doc Banner’s the type to cook when he’s anxious, apparently.” 

“Just a sandwich. I don’t really like anything too fancy.” He answers, extremely subdued. 

“One Keener Special, coming up.” 

Peter raises a brow. _“‘Keener Special?’”_ He repeats incredulously. 

“Roast beef, lettuce, swiss, half spicy mustard, half honey mustard. I was a picky kid growin’ up, so Mama,” He pauses for a moment, the mention of his mother driving a spike of bitter emotion up his throat, “Mama had to get creative with seasoning. She figured out that I like a mix of sweet and spicy, and used to put this on every sandwich she ever made me.” 

“Yeah, May, she used to do something similar, except I liked barbeque and ranch mixed.” The other teen says, just the smallest grin on his face. 

Harley’s face morphs into horror. “Ranch dressing and _barbeque sauce?!”_

“Hey, don’t knock it till you’ve tried it!” He objects. “It’s wonderful.” 

“It’s goddamn cursed, is what it is.” 

A few moments later, Harley sets the sandwich in front of Peter, and pours him a glass of water for good measure. The two of them sit down, eating in a pregnant silence, the ghosts of those they’ve lost filling the room. After they’ve finished, and Peter has collected their trash and dishes to put in the automated washer, the two sit on the couch, staring out of the enormous windows that offer a view of the Hudson River as it meanders through the forest. 

“Harley?” He asks, his voice almost whisper soft. 

“Yeah, Pete?” 

“What now?” 

He turns to face him, confusion on his features. “What do you mean?” 

“I mean,” Peter begins, “What do we _do?_ We… we lost. Thanos did what he set out to do and then made it so it could never be undone. Half the universe is gone, and they’re not coming back. How do we _fix this?”_

Harley lays a hand on Peter’s and sighs. “I was always real handy, even as a little, little kid. My dad worked at the local mechanic’s shop, and he used to take me when I was like three or four, let me tinker with shit. Never anythin’ important, of course, but still more than he probably should’ve. I got good, real good. By the time I was in kindergarten, people would say I could fix anything.” He pauses, his accent thickening considerably as emotion fills him.

“You hear that kinda shit when you’re a kid, you start believin’ it. I really thought I could fix _anything,_ people included. Then, when I was six, Dad just up and left. No word, no warnin’, just went to the store and never came home. Me, believing that there wasn’t a thing I couldn’t fix, I tried to fix that, too. Put up missin’ persons posters, called every relative I knew of on his side to see if anyone knew where he was, and I got absolutely nowhere.” 

“God, Harley, I’m _so_ sorry. That’s awful.” Peter says. 

“It was a long time ago, now. A different world. Anyway, here I was, facin’ the first thing I couldn’t fix, and Mom sat me down and explained something to me. She told me that there are some things in life, that when they get broken, just can’t fix ‘em, and that people are one of those things. I asked her, _‘What do you do when you can’t fix something?’,_ and you know what she said?” 

Peter stares at him with those cinnamon eyes that swim with loss. “What did she tell you?” He asks, even quieter. 

“She said, _‘You take care of what’s left.’”_

**+**

There’s a meeting of the Avengers the next morning. Carol, Nebula, and Rocket all decide to take off, as the entire _universe_ is coping with the problems caused by the Decimation, and those countless worlds aren’t so blessed as to have a stock of homegrown heroes to help them. Meanwhile, what remains of the ground team, joined by Pepper, Harley, and Peter, all resolve to continue helping the desperately distressed Earth, even the most bitter of them, Tony and Thor. The one glaring absence is Hawkeye, whose entire family seems to have been taken, and they all silently assume he fell to Thanos with them. 

A little over a month post-snap, Natasha decides that Harley is ready to begin actual hand-to-hand combat training, which, he has to admit, he’s noticed a considerable difference in the single month. Even if he doesn’t look that different, he feels stronger, and has a much greater awareness of his physical body than he did before. 

The first training session, Nat seems to simply have fun kicking his ass. She flips him over her shoulders, sweeps his feet out from under him, and hurls him clear across the room. Granted, there’s very plush padding on the walls and floors, but that doesn’t change the fact that Harley is getting it handed to him. 

“What the Hell was that, Nat?” He pants when she proclaims that they’re done, and he’s left lying on the ground and sore absolutely everywhere. 

“Soviet-style training. Sink or swim, no mistakes, no missed chances. You’re lucky you’ve got all these pads, I was getting thrown into concrete walls.” She replies. 

He groans. “Can we maybe give me just the _slightest_ chance?” 

Natasha pauses for a moment, deliberating to herself, before nodding. “It may be time to bring Cap into this.” 

After a hot shower and an hour or two of resting his aching form, FRIDAY comes in over the building PA to call Harley down to Tony’s lab space. With an exhausted sigh, he rises from his bed where he’s been watching old YouTube videos and makes his way to the lab, where Tony spins around and smiles brightly at him. 

“You’re in a suspiciously good mood.” Harley remarks.

“Inventing always makes me feel better, and since we’ve all decided that we need to help salvage this disaster heap of a planet, I have been inventing on _your_ behalf, oh, wayward child of mine.” He replies, before gesturing to a roughly Harley-sized mannequin that wears nothing but a sleek smartwatch. 

The teenager begins to chuckle. “Five days to make me a suit? Tony, you’re slipping in your old age.” 

“Age has nothing to do with it, Tennessee Whiskey, it’s that damn infection, took a lot more out of me than I expected. Now quit badmouthing me or you don’t get your toy. FRIDAY, activate Iron Lad, Mark III.” 

At once, a plain silver suit appears from the wristwatch, enveloping the mannequin in less than a second, and Harley has to admit, it’s a work of art. It resembles the Iron Spider more than Tony or Pepper’s suits, form fitting and elegant as can be, with a Stark Industries vector line blazoned across the chest. The helmet, however, stands out from the other suits that Tony Stark has designed. Rather than having an imitation of a face like his and his wife’s, or just plain eyes like Peter’s, there’s a smooth black view screen, giving it a much more spacesuit-like aesthetic. 

“Holy shit.” Harley whispers. 

“It _is_ holy, but shit it is not. This may be my finest work yet, in fact!” The inventor proclaims. “If you will pay attention to the back of the suit, you will notice those two ridges running down the back. Those are your primary flight engines, giving you a much faster and smoother flight than either Pepper or I, and allowing you to carry much heavier loads in the air.” 

Tony lifts up one of the mannequin’s hands, pointing to the weapons systems. “Fingertip repulsors allow for small-scale blasts designed to stun, as well as concentrated laser systems for delicate work such as machining or otherwise tinkering, as the suit also has its own supply of programmable nanotech that can be used to do almost anything in an emergency. Note, your lasers also make for a very efficient weapon, as you can link them to form a nasty little thing I call the Cat’s Cradle, which makes your grip enough to cut through pretty much anything short of vibranium.”

“What about the helmet?” He eagerly asks. 

“Ah, I am glad that caught your eye. I’ve developed another personalized AI, like our beloved Peter has, you may name her what you wish, and she will help you with a HUD that can automatically display information such as composition of materials, temperatures, radioactivity, air or water toxicity, and can even display the full light spectrum from radio to gamma, giving you eyes on _everything._ Standard protocols are included as well. I’ve also programmed both your AI and Peter’s with a new protocol as well, the Brother Protocol.” 

Harley raises an eyebrow. “The Hell is that?”

Tony’s face becomes serious once again. “If this… you know, _thing_ has taught me anything, it’s that I am extremely lucky not to have lost everyone I love, and I fully intend to make sure that I don’t lose any of you. You and Pete and that unborn little peanut, you three are everything to me in ways I don’t think you fully understand. The Brother Protocol will automatically override your suits and bring you and Peter to each other somewhere safe. I can activate it, and so can each of you. When Pepper is ready to get back in the field, she’ll have it as well.”

“Isn’t that a little… extreme?” 

“Harley, listen. The only way I ever thought I’d have kids was if they showed up with a story of how I left their mom in a hotel room and a court order for a paternity test, which, still a very real possibility, there’s a good chunk from ‘94 to ‘96 that’s just _pfft,_ but don’t tell Pepper that-”

“The _point,_ Tony.” He cuts him off. 

He nods. “Kid, you were the first time I ever actually _liked_ a child. I gave a shit about you, even when you were giving me panic attacks. When that asshole of Killian’s had you, all I could think was _not him,_ and when it was over, I made sure you knew I’d always be there to catch you, and then Peter showed, and you’ve already figured out that it’s impossible not to love that little ball of sunshine, I’m sure.” 

A blush colors Harley’s cheeks at that. “He’s a nice guy.” 

“Uh-huh,” Tony smirks with an all too knowing glint in his eyes, “And now that Pepper’s pregnant… it’s made me realize that you, and Pete, and that kid growing inside my wife, you’re what matters most to me. You guys are my family, the only family I have left, and I’m not dumb enough to try and stop you from joining the fight, but I can make goddamn sure that I’ll get you both out of there in one piece.” 

“Fine,” He replies, his voice thick with emotion. “On one condition. You need to add two more protocols, though. The Mom Protocol and the Dad Protocol. Same rules, we can all override each other’s suits.” 

“Deal. One Family Protocol, coming up. Now, that’s enough emotional nonsense, what kinda teen drama do you take this for? We have much more important matters to discuss, namely, what color are you thinking for your suit?” 

“Blue.” Harley declares immediately. “Blue is my favorite color.” 

“And the accents?” 

“Silver. Iron Man’s red and gold, and I should be blue and silver to counter it.” 

Tony nods approvingly. “Excellent sense of coordination, you sure you’re not mine?” 

“Let’s not do the DNA test and leave that mystery to rest.” He retorts.

“Fair enough. Fri, you heard the kid, blue and silver.” 

_‘Coming right up, Boss.’_

Instantly, the suit morphs into a brilliant iridescent blue, with silver lines flowing along the limbs and flanks of it. The SI vector line morphs into the Avengers’ _A,_ and the symbol glows softly in the center of the chest. 

With a grin, Tony gestures to the suit like a gameshow host presenting a new car. “Harley Keener, I present to thee… the Iron Lad suit.” 

“Okay, no.” Harley snickers. _“‘Iron Lad?’_ What is this, the fifties? Absolutely the fuck not. Besides, Pepper isn’t Iron Woman, so it doesn’t make sense.” 

“Oh, like you can come up with something better?” He challenges. 

He levels a critical eye at the suit, walking around it and appraising it like it’s a valuable work of art, before a spark of inspiration flashes in the young man’s eyes. “Cobalt. It’s a metal, so it works in conjunction with the iron in Iron Man, it’s one word, like Pepper’s Rescue suit, and Cobalt is also a shade of blue.” 

Tony looks prepared to argue, but instead he gives Harley a half smile before speaking loudly. “FRIDAY, change all file references of _‘Iron Lad’_ to _‘Cobalt’,_ please.”

 _‘You got it.’_ The AI replies cheerily. 

He holds out his hand, and shakes his eldest “child”’s hand with nothing but pride on his face. “Welcome to the Avengers… Cobalt.” 

With tears welling in his eyes, Harley throws his arms around Tony, who easily returns the embrace. “Thanks, old man.”

“Only one thing left to do, kiddo.” He chuckles. “What are you gonna call your AI?”

An absolutely devilish glint enters his eyes, and, not for the first time, the billionaire wonders what sort of monster he’s unleashed as Harley proudly christens his suit companion. 

“Hey, Siri?”

**+**

The Avengers’ first real mission after the Decimation comes about two months later, as the world is just starting to get a full sense of the ramifications of what’s happened. Thanos’ snap may have been random in who it took, but that was as much a curse as it was a mercy. Countless farmers vanished, leaving their fields untended and abandoned, and the most food-insecure regions of the world now find themselves falling into famine as their local agriculture infrastructure has completely collapsed. 

With NATO and the United Nations Peacekeepers stretched to their absolute limit with the global outbreak of chaos, the Avengers are called upon by the UN to protect a massive convoy of rations that are inbound to the city of Rajkot, in northwestern India. Besieged by separatist forces and crowded with refugees who flooded the city in the immediate aftermath of the Decimation, there are almost three million people inside the metropolis facing starvation. The operation, desperately needed, is one of the largest humanitarian projects in world history. 

With the team fully assembled in the quinjet, they fly out of the base and settle in for a long flight. Harley winds up in the back, sharing a pair of seats with one Peter Parker. He turns to the other teen and offers him one of his earbuds and a view of his laptop. “I was gonna watch a movie, if you want to with me?” 

Peter looks prepared to decline, as he so often has with anyone’s offers of company these past months, but he nods, popping in the offered earbud and angling himself so that the computer can rest on both of their thighs, bringing them into contact with one another.

 _Jesus, he runs warm,_ Harley thinks to himself. He puts on something lighthearted, not wanting for anything to further dampen Peter’s already cloudy mood. As the quinjet barrels over the Atlantic, one movie becomes two, which becomes a binge-watch of an old cartoon from when they were kids. Peter lightens up noticeably, until, somewhere over the Caucasus, with another four hours left in their flight, he drifts off, resting his head on Harley’s shoulder. A quick scan of the cabin finds that pretty much everyone but Bruce has also passed out, and Harley shrugs, letting his head lean on Peter’s, and falls asleep himself.

The two of them are awakened by Natasha, who gently shakes each of their shoulders. “Boys,” She says softly, “We’re landing.” 

Looking out the side windows, they each see the UN-controlled port of Jamnagar, the city home to the world’s largest oil refineries. Their assignment is to protect a caravan of thousands of tons of food and medical supplies from certain attack along a fifty-mile stretch of road from Jamnagar to Rajkot, and Harley feels ready for it. The public hasn’t met Cobalt yet, but he’s about to make his first appearance, and it’s a key one, as Pepper, now nearly five months pregnant, is in absolutely no fighting shape, and Bruce, still fighting with the Hulk inside, will be staying in Jamnagar to coordinate operations from the United Nations command. 

The two teens look at each other as they realize their positions, and exchange small smiles before standing in order to stretch and suit up. After months of training with Natasha, Tony, Steve, and his suit AI Siri, Harley is positive he’s ready for the fight. When the nanobot suit cloaks him, he smiles to himself, feeling more confident than he has in years. 

There’s a liaison team from the UN command to greet them as they disembark on the tarmac, and their eyes immediately fly to Harley, who cuts a glittering sapphire figure in the sweltering midday sun. 

“Thank you for coming, all of you.” The commander, a lean, hard-looking Frenchman, greets them. “Though I am unfamiliar with your companion in blue, Mrs. Stark.” He directs the remark to Pepper. 

She puts on her most charming smile for the commander. “It’s Potts, actually. And yes, I’d like to formally introduce the newest member of the Avengers, Cobalt.” Feeling rather awkward with all of the attention, Harley does the first thing that pops into his head, and gives a little wave. 

“Very well…” He trails. “Anyway, allow me to show you all to the convoy.”

**+**

Just as they were warned, the relief convoy comes under attack on the highway about ten miles outside of Rajkot. The separatists manifest almost out of nowhere, guns blazing and aimed at the tires of the trucks. In an instant, the Avengers spring into action. Steve and Harley coordinate defensive positions on the trucks, while Tony, Natasha, Thor, and Peter all go after the attackers. 

The thing is, Harley’s seen footage of Peter’s fights before, both great and small, including the dustup in Berlin and even suitcam footage of the fight against Thanos. He’s quick and nimble, one to disarm and disable his targets as fast as possible and move on. That’s not what happens here– _at all._

Peter hurls himself into the fray, bullets easily ricocheting off of the Iron Spider suit as he fires a rope of web at one of the separatists. With an easy flick of the wrist, he has the man hurtling up into the air, and then pulls with all of his might, yanking him overhead and across the convoy. He doesn’t see the impact, but he certainly hears it, and there is absolutely no mistaking the man’s fate. 

It’s a fucking slaughter. There’s no other word for the easy way that Spider-Man rips through the attackers. Tony, Natasha, and Thor may each have no qualms about killing bad men, but between repulsor blasts, gunfire, and Mjolnir, it’s always been a rather impersonal thing. Peter, on the other hand, is doing this with nothing but webs and the strength in his hands. He flings men like they’re ragdolls, even grabs one attacker who tried to get at him with a knife by the throat and slams him into the side of a tractor trailer, leaving an indent in the side of the container and a corpse that lays staring into the cloudless blue sky with unseeing eyes.

Even as Harley himself has to fire on these men, no doubt ending lives, he sees, for the first time, just how impossibly dangerous all of them are. By the time the fight is done, there are more than fifty bodies scattered along the highway and its embankments, and not one casualty for the convoy. The few survivors from the attackers tremble in fear as they’re cuffed and placed in the back of Humvees, while Tony’s helmet pulls back and he turns to face Peter.

“The Hell was that, kid?” He demands. “You just massacred those people!” 

Peter’s own mask retreats, revealing nothing but defiance blazing in his eyes. “I am done fighting with one hand behind my back, Mr. Stark. The only thing that happens when I do is that innocent people die. If we let those assholes walk away, they’d just have attacked the next convoy, and considering your body count is a lot higher than mine, I don’t think you have any room to talk about the morality of killing people.” 

Tony looks like he wants to argue, but Harley lays a hand on his shoulder. “He’s right, Tony. It’s not like it was anymore, and if we don’t make the hard choices, more people are going to suffer.” 

The young spider’s face morphs into surprise, before he smooths it down and gives him a nod of respect, while their adoptive sort-of-father just sighs before looking to Peter again. “I just… I care, Underoos, you know that. I don’t want you to have to live with the same mistakes and actions that I do. That said, I gotta accept that you’ve had to grow up a lot faster than you should have. You know that I’m always gonna be looking out for you, right?” 

“I know.” He replies.

“You were something, though, I gotta give you that.” He says with a crooked grin, and a little bit of relief creeps into Peter as he realizes that they’re gonna be okay. 

In the end, the mission is a success, even if it’s just one city in a world that seems to be completely on fire. On the flight back, Peter and Harley sit next to each other once more, and this time, when he falls asleep against him, Harley wraps an arm around Peter’s shoulders and sleeps better than he has since this all began.

**+**

**Five Months Later**

Morgan Stark comes into the world screaming. Delivered by Doctor Helen Cho and her team at the medical center at the New Avengers Facility, she is born in the middle of the night during a Nor’easter that will have dumped two feet of snow on the Hudson Valley and the nearly four feet on the Adirondacks by the time it is done. 

Pepper, for her part, lays in her hospital bed exhausted, covered in blood and sweat, and delirious from the relief of having finished childbirth, but she wears a beatific smile as she cradles her newborn daughter, holding her up so that Tony, himself awestruck by the tiny little life that Pepper has just brought forth, can examine her closely. 

“She’s perfect, Pep, absolutely perfect.” He murmurs, gently cupping the newborn’s head. “You do good work.” He chokes out, suddenly overwhelmed by the miracle in his hand. 

_“We_ do good work. You had a hand in this, too, Tony.” Pepper says drowsily. In her arms, Morgan begins to fuss, so she lowers the hem of her hospital gown and brings the baby to her breast to nurse. From behind them, there’s a gentle knock on the doorframe, where Peter and Harley are both waiting for permission to come in, which she gestures for them to do. 

“Oh, we didn’t realize you were feeding her.” Peter says, politely averting his eyes from where Morgan has latched.

Pepper lets out a good-natured chuckle. “It’s fine, you guys, she’ll be done in a second, and it’s important that she meets her big brothers.” 

Sure enough, after they spend a few minutes talking quietly while the baby nurses, she breaks off and her mother quickly brings her upright to burp her. After Morgan lets out a surprisingly loud belch, Pepper gestures for the two boys to come close, and they each take a seat on either side of her in the bed.

“Peter, Harley, I’d like you to meet Morgan Helena Stark.” She says, holding up the little girl, who gazes at each of them with wide, inquisitive eyes the same color as her father’s. “Morgan, these are your brothers.” 

Morgan, meanwhile, seems fascinated by Peter, and inside of him, something cracks so loudly he can practically hear it. Some part of his heart that he walled off after losing everything is exposed once more, raw and open in a way he isn’t sure he likes, but just by meeting those little eyes, dark and beautiful and so blissfully unaware of the world they’ve been born into, Morgan Stark has embedded herself there. It takes one look from this tiny child for Peter to realize that he’d pull the moon from the sky for her without a second thought, and when he glances up at Harley, he sees that same process printed in his face. 

In this little girl, what Harley sees isn’t his own sister, now lost to him, or even anything so personally emotional. Morgan is not Abbie, and the place she is claiming in his heart is wholly separate from the one that his biological sister still holds. What he sees is a hope he didn’t think was there, a hope that there will be something better than all of this unbridled chaos. He sees the future in Morgan Stark, and he is more determined than ever to make it a bright one. 

Later that night, as the snow falls in long sheets and the rest of the team visits with the newest Stark and her parents, Peter and Harley wind up in Peter’s bedroom, just sharing a space, but enjoying being near one another. As he browses through social media, Harley looks up for a moment, watching Pete sit at his desk and work on some calculations, no doubt inventing something amazing, and when he sees him as he is, profile backlit by the light of his screen and surrounded by flickering holograms, all he can think is _God, he’s beautiful._

**+**

In the days after Morgan’s birth, Peter starts to realize some things. Namely, that the camaraderie he’s built with Harley over the past seven months runs deeper than he had ever thought. Harley isn’t just a friend, isn’t just his sort-of adopted sibling, he’s… _wonderful._ Intelligent and curious, he’ll spend just as long in their shared lab space as Peter will, tinkering on the Cobalt suit or any number of Stark Industries projects that Tony has punted his way because the Decimation blew a massive hole in their R&D department that will likely take years to recover from. 

More than that, Harley is good, the kind of fundamental good that is rare to find in a person. He’s generous and kind and tries to spend time with everyone on the team as equally as possible. He and Bruce begin meditating together as the Hulk attempts to reconnect with and control the green monster inside of him. With Thor, the two bond over a budding taste in video games on the Asgardian’s part. Harley and Rhodey, as it happens, are each gearheads in their own right, and quickly take to restoring cars together, while he still keeps up a hearty training routine with Nat and Steve, and, of course, he spends his evenings with the family he’s found. 

Harley fits in such a way that he seems like the missing piece the Avengers always had, for Peter more than anyone else. They spend nearly all of their free time with one another, going into town for the rare shopping trip or to see a movie, or they’ll hike along the many trails in the woods surrounding their compound. It’s… dizzying, and for the first time in many months, Peter thinks he feels the stirrings of desire in his chest.

As Christmas nears, Tony approaches him one rare sunny day with a heavy proposal. “Pep and I have been talking, and, well… you haven’t gone to New York since it happened. Now, we were fine with you and Harley both electing to just take the GED instead of finishing up school, but we _are_ your legal guardians, and we both agree that it’d be good for New York to see their Friendly Neighborhood Spider-Man, and for said Spider-Man to see New York.” 

“Are you ordering me to go patrol the city?” Peter asks, raising an eyebrow. 

“No, kiddo, but I hope you’ll consider it. I’ve had to go down more than once and… well, the Burroughs have more or less cleared out for the island, and Manhattan feels a lot more like the old world, y’know? Might give you a little grounding to see a place that’s actually crowded.” He suggests. “Just think on it, okay?” 

“Okay… Dad.” 

Tony turns back around, a curious expression on his face. “Since when am I Dad?” 

“Since you decided to flex on me that you’re legally responsible for me.” He says, just a hint of teasing his voice. “I could call you Pops, if you prefer that? Pater Familias? _Daddy?”_

“If you ever call me Daddy again, I will lock you in your suit and make sure the jaw is hardened so you can’t talk.” He threatens, only half-joking, before softening once more. “But Dad works just fine, Underoos.” 

Peter smiles, a rare, truly brilliant smile like he used to flash all the time, before Tony leaves the room and him to his thoughts. It _might_ do him some good, seeing his old haunts. Not Queens, of course, there’s far too much pain waiting for him in an abandoned apartment building that was once his home, but Manhattan, that glittering city he’d loved so very much? Perhaps there’s something waiting for him there, some measure of peace. 

After eating an early dinner, Peter nods to Tony, who promptly throws him a set of keys to one of the fleet of vehicles parked in the enormous garage. When he gets there and presses the locator button, he is both thrilled and completely unsurprised that it’s the fastest, sleekest model in the lineup that beeps its horn. Karen guides him down the interstate to a suitable parking spot in the Bronx, which, as Tony indicated, is eerily empty, but Manhattan glows as brightly as ever in the night. 

It’s almost too easy to fall back into the old routine of his patrol routes, muscle memory guiding him over rooftops and across intersections, minimal web-shooting required to move through the dense urban environment. He doesn’t really know if this is a proper patrol or just a ghosting through of a place he once knew, but the decision is made for him when his enhanced hearing picks up the sound of a struggle, the desperate, terrified struggle of a person about to be violated in the worst way. 

He moves on autopilot the requisite block and a half to the struggle, where a man has a woman pinned against the brick wall of an alleyway, his hand covering her mouth and the other restraining both of her wrists. Peter only needs to wait for the goon to move just a little bit, and then his web is streaking through the air like a bullet in the dark, catching the prick by his wrist. 

In that moment, he makes a split-second decision. It would be simple to just flick his wrist and send this asshole flying up three stories into the air and then slam him down at near terminal velocity. He could crack this monster open like an egg, with even less finesse than he needs to crack an actual egg. But he doesn’t. Peter lets out another web, and then a proper blast, encasing the guy in a net that he won’t be getting out of any time soon. He jumps down, making sure to land far enough from the woman to avoid spooking her. 

“Are you okay, miss?” He asks, holding up his hands like he’s dealing with a startled animal. 

She gasps aloud as she takes in the sight of him, before rushing forward and throwing her arms around Peter in a tight hug. _“Oh, thank God!”_ She cries, and he freezes up, unused to contact with anyone he hasn’t seen on a daily basis, before lowering his arms to gently return the embrace. 

“I’ve already contacted the police, they’re on their way now. I’ll stay until they get here.” He promises, and sure enough, not five minutes later, two patrol cars pull up, lights blazing. Peter uses the suit to project a hologram of the assault and how he stopped it before having Karen email a copy of the footage to the officers for their evidence log. 

Just as he turns to leave, one of the officers calls out. “Hey, Spidey!” 

Peter turns, looking back at the man. “Yeah?”

“We missed you.” He says, and leaves it at that. 

As those words settle in, he realizes that he missed New York, too. With a nod to the officer, he shoots a web up and takes off south, continuing his patrol of the city.

**+**

People have many different reactions to traumatic experiences, and this entire ordeal has been nothing if not an exercise in trauma, so it should come as no surprise that, as the world learns of Thanos and his Black Order, there forms a small but extraordinarily vocal group who worship him as some sort of salvation-bringer. From ultrafundamentalist Christians sects determined to squeeze the Decimation into their own dogmatic views of the Bible to ecofascists who have spent years advocating for radical population control measures, all call themselves members of the White Order.

It’s a group with membership somewhere in the low millions across the globe, one that quickly becomes public enemy number one for countless people, resulting in frequent violence against its members, who are notable for wearing a single white glove everywhere they go. The White Order enjoys crashing memorial services, funerals for public figures, and monument sites for the victims of the Decimation, preaching the word that they, both alive and dead, have become Children of Thanos, and to rejoice in gratitude for the man who gave them a balanced universe. 

The Avengers’ offworld contingent confirms that pretty much every civilization has their own version of the White Order, and that responses have varied from toleration to outright extermination of the members of these cults. Of course, as the people who did their savior in, the White Order holds a very particular animosity for the Avengers. 

Which is why it’s so fucking stupid, the way it happens. Of course they’d get found out, they _always_ get found out. It’s February, and it’s warm for once, so of course Peter and Harley are in town, walking through the streets and making idle chatter, trying to find a place to eat as they meander without any real destination in mind. 

Just as they walk into a restaurant along the main drag, the bell on the door behind them rings, and Harley doesn’t even pay it any mind until there’s a deafening blast in the small space, followed by the screams of the two dozen or so people there. In an instant, the suit is springing forth from his wristwatch, but there’s another sound, a sound that chills him to the bone. A dull thud, and he whips around to see Peter falling in a rapidly expanding puddle of his own blood. 

What happens next is pure instinct. The shooter fires directly at his head, but the nanotech armor doesn’t even scratch at that, and Harley bum rushes at him, wrapping one sapphire hand around the guy’s throat and putting him through the window with all of the force the suit is capable of, sending him clear across the street and into the brick façade of a building, where he leaves a deep indentation and falls to the ground, dead on impact. 

Harley’s helmet snaps back immediately as Siri chirps in his ear that she’s already contacted Doc Cho back at the base, and he rushes over to where Peter is coughing up blood. “Jesus fuckin’ Christ, Pete, you stay with me!” He frantically begs, tears obscuring his vision.

The wounded teen goes to speak, but first coughs up another gout of blood. “O-Ow.” He groans. 

“No, no, don’t- don’t talk, darlin’, Tony’s on his way, he’ll- he’s gonna be here, you just hold on.” Harley orders, tilting Peter’s head up in order to help him breathe. Sure enough, Iron Man is there in a truly dramatic entrance not even a minute later, but in that minute, Peter has slipped into unconsciousness. 

_‘I got him, kiddo.’_ Tony’s voice breaks through the suit, _‘I’ll fly him back to base, you follow.’_

He nods, and the two are out into the open air, barreling through the sky as fast as they can while keeping Peter stable. Once back to the facility, Tony all but blows out a window in the medical ward in his rush to get his wounded child into Doctor Cho’s hands. She’s there, of course, already prepared with a full team of staff and a surgical suite prepped, sweeping Peter into the ward and leaving Tony and Harley alone, still dressed in their armor, wearing twin looks of absolute desperation. 

**+**

Nearly an hour later, Doctor Cho, still in her bloody scrubs, finds the two of them with the rest of the team in the main conference area. “Peter took a single bullet to the right middle back, which tore the right upper pulmonary vein as it passed through his lung. Luckily, he didn’t lose too much blood and the shot was clean, went right through without damaging any ribs. We were able to repair the damaged veins and seal his lung back up, but he’s going to need time to recover properly, and I had to give him a chest tube for the resulting pneumothorax. Spider-Man is gonna be out of commission for a while.” 

“But he’s okay, right?” Tony asks, still very much on edge. “He’s gonna recover?”

“I see no reason or indication that would show otherwise. He’ll be alright, Tony.” Helen confirms. 

Thor steps up, clapping her on the shoulder. “Thank you, doctor, for taking care of Peter. We all owe you a debt for this.” 

She blushes, ducking her head. “Not at all, Thor. I’m a healer, this is what I _do.”_

“Still, perhaps we should make sure you get a very strong drink for your trouble.” He replies. 

Pepper, cradling a sleeping Morgan, visibly relaxes where she sits on the couch. “Thank you, God.” She sighs. 

Everyone has similar responses of relief, and Nat speaks up. “When can we see him?” 

“Well, considering his metabolism treats morphine like it’s tylenol, I’ve had to give him enough fentanyl to put a bull elephant in a medically-induced coma just to keep him at a low-level sedation, so he’s going to be out for a bit. The best thing to do is give Peter plenty of space and not overwhelm him until I’ve cleared him for discharge.” She answers. 

They all nod and voice their thanks to Doctor Cho before dispersing, but before he can slip away, she reaches out and grabs Harley by the shoulder. 

“Yes, ma’am?”

Helen smiles softly at him. “That fentanyl won’t keep him down long, especially when I cut it off. Pete could probably use a friendly face when he wakes up.”

He nods, and trails after her into the medical center and to Peter’s room, where he lays on the bed, pale and drawn under the weak hospital lights, with an oxygen line wrapped around his nose and an IV dripping the opiate into his veins. He looks so small, so _weak,_ lying there in that hospital bed with wires and all manner of displays showing his vital signs. It’s enough that Harley is just able to hold it together long enough for the doctor to make her way out, shutting the door behind her, before he collapses into the chair at Peter’s bedside and begins to cry.

**+**

Peter comes back to himself with an aching deep in his chest, and the distinct feeling of an intrusion in his body. It’s dark outside, and the light of a nearly full moon drifts in through the enormous windows and lights up the snow-covered world outside. Next to him, curled up in a ball in a chair, is Harley, sleeping like a rock. The southerner’s hair is sticking up something fierce, and there’s a trail of drool going down his chin, but he’s never seemed more beautiful to Peter. 

As the pain meds begin to wear off and he can act with the slightest bit of coordination, Peter adjusts himself so that he’s sitting upright in the hospital bed. Once he feels steady enough in his position, he clears his throat, hoping it’ll wake Harley up, but he doesn’t even notice. 

“Harley.” He says, gentle but firm. No response. “Harley!” He tries with a bit more force, and still gets nothing more than a groan. _“Keener!”_ Peter barks, wincing as the pain in his right lung flares up.

“Huh, what?!” Harley startles awake, before his eyes land on Peter and he immediately relaxes. “Hey…”

The wounded man snickers. “Hey, Harls. Nice nap?” 

“Yeah, uh, sorry ‘bout that. Didn’t mean to go fallin’ asleep on you, I wanted to be here when you woke up.” He replies, sheepishly fixing his hair and wiping the string of saliva from his face.

“You’re good.” Peter chuckles. “You know your accent gets _really_ thick when you’re sleepy?” 

Harley nods. “So I been told. You feel okay, need anything?”

He shakes his head, and then there’s a lull in the conversation. Both teens feel the weight of everything that’s been left unsaid, the fear and the panic of this close call, and the inevitable moment their relationship has been building towards, perhaps this very moment itself. Finally, Peter clears his throat and looks at his friend with a secretive smile on his face. “You called me darlin’.” 

“I did.” 

“Why? And don’t go giving me that southern charm bullshit, either, you never called me darlin’ before then.” 

“Pete… I…”

“Harley.” He says, and it sounds like a command just as much as a question.

There’s another moment of silence, but this time, Harley reaches over, taking Peter’s hand in his own. “Yeah?”

He takes a deep breath. “Kiss me.” 

It’s imperfect. Harley has to clamber onto the bed to reach him, as the chest tube is keeping Peter pretty thoroughly tethered in place, and the angle is awkward, and both boys have chapped lips and morning breath strong enough to kill, but it’s them, and it sings through their veins and makes them feel more alive than they have in almost a year. It’s absolutely perfect. 

**+**

**Four Months Later**

Harley has been involved in his share of skirmishes, ambushes, and attacks, but never before has he been called into an actual battle. The Avengers, sans Thor, who is helping out at New Asgard for the moment, are in China, where the civil war that broke out following the Decimation has come to a brutal head with the Battle of Beijing, a desperate last stand for the Chinese Communist Party, which has been weakened by the defections of East Turkestan and Tibet, has lost control of the southern half of the remaining country, and now faces a mad dash charge from the rebels to take the capital and end the war quickly. 

They are not here to help either side. It’s a matter for the Chinese to deal with, and neither the Avengers themselves nor the United Nations has any particular concern about who comes out on top. They are there in order to oversee the evacuation of tens of thousands of civilians from the city before the battle even begins. The problem is, the battle comes far sooner than any of them expected, and now the Avengers are pinned between the clashing forces, desperately trying to hold down hundreds of people in a building in Old Beijing. 

Even as FRIDAY yells from Tony’s suit in frantic Mandarin in a plea for the fighting to stop long enough for the civilians to pass, the two sides completely ignore the Avengers in their single-minded pursuit of killing each other. Overhead, jets engage in dogfights and bombing runs, while artillery falls all around them. 

As the building shakes from the impact of explosions and echoes with the terrified cries of the people trapped inside, Harley sprints across the lobby to where Peter is radiating fury, the eyes of his armor glowing red and narrowed with Karen’s insta-kill mode activated, the massive nanobot spider legs of his suit twitching in preparation to strike. 

“They won’t fucking _listen.”_ He hisses. “They don’t care that these people are here.” 

“I know, sweetheart. We just gotta keep them from coming here.” He urges, grabbing Peter’s hand and lacing their fingers together. 

_“Boys!”_ Rhodes cries, causing them both to whip around just in time to see a CCP fighter jet flying directly towards them, sidewinder missiles hot. 

_‘It’s targeting the building!’_ Siri exclaims from inside Harley’s suit. 

“On it!” Harley barks, deploying the refocuser lasers that he’s just installed in the Mark V, winglets manifesting in midair from the nanotech and instantly firing lasers at the missiles as they fly from the jet, taking them down long before they could threaten the civilians inside. 

_‘Good job, Harls!’_ Tony calls over the comms. _‘We got six more loyalist jets coming in, comms chatter says they’ve got orders to flatten the whole area.’_

“That’ll kill their fighters, too!” Natasha yells in shock. 

_‘Yeah, it’s not looking good for them, I think they’re making a last stand here. Pep, Harley, Rhodey, we need to take to the skies for this one. Cap, Nat, Junior, you’re gonna have to move these people quickly.’_

Steve looks over to where the armored members of the team are assembling for takeoff. “Where we taking them to?” 

_‘I can cover that one, Rogers,’_ FRIDAY says, _‘There’s an underground parking structure about three blocks east. If Pete and Natasha can clear the path ahead, you should be able to get everyone there.’_

“On it. Everyone, break!” He yells.

In the skies, the four fliers of the group hone in on the approaching bombers, locking their weapons systems onto the missiles and waiting for the bombs to fire so that they can take them out without killing the pilots, however, within seconds of catching sight, the jets open fire on them, and rotary cannon rounds are not pistol fire. Each 25mm round lands on them like a punch, and Harley nearly goes falling from the sky. 

_‘They’re trying to kill us!’_ Pepper howls furiously. 

_‘I noticed that when they shot me, Pep,’_ Tony snarks, _‘Alright, this just changed the game. Target their weapons systems, see if we can’t disable their cannons.’_

Harley does as told, locking his precision lasers onto the rotaries, but there are only four of them, and six planes. Just as he begins to disable one jet’s weapons, the other opens fire, knocking him harshly and causing the laser beam to move with him, raking across the body of the plane and cutting clean through the cockpit window, killing the pilot instantly. The plane begins to pinwheel, directly down into the conflagration below.

**+**

_‘Guys, crashing plane incoming!’_ Rhodey cries over the comms, and Peter’s eyes snap skywards as he and Natasha lead the column of evacuees down the war-torn street. Sure enough, a jet tumbles end over end, and Karen’s overlay indicates that it’s going to crash down the very street they’re on, plowing its way directly to the large building where more than half of the civilians still wait to flee. Through his suit, Karen yells out in Chinese, presumably for the people to run, and Peter feels the blood in his veins turn to ice as he realizes what is about to happen. These people are going to die. 

The jet comes down hard on the narrow street, ripping up the old cobblestones and demolishing the low, ancient buildings around it, spewing fire as it sweeps its way towards the building they’d spent more than an hour hunkered down in. It rips through the crowd of hundreds like they aren’t even there, and then, as it spirals, it manages to catch the air just right to go for a final flight before it slams into the side of the large structure, and then Peter, Nat, Steve, and the few people still with them are all knocked clean off their feet by the force of the enormous explosion. 

A tidal wave of fire goes down the street, slaughtering anyone who managed to survive the initial impact, and all he can do is pray that Nat and Steve are alright as it washes over him, before the flames suddenly retreat away. Looking up in a daze through his flickering, damaged HUD, he sees that Pepper is hovering overhead, using the exhaust from her repulsors to keep the fire back before it can consume the remaining Avengers and survivors. 

“I got you, kiddo.” She says as the force of the fire dies out and she’s able to land.

“Thanks… Mom.” He replies, gratefully taking her hand as she helps him up.

Pepper chuckles, knocking their helmets together affectionately. “Always, Pete.” 

Natasha appears, bloodied and covered in soot and debris, but definitely alive, and a few feet away, Cap is helping a couple of civilians up. A few feet away, the other armored heroes touch down, and Harley rushes over to pull Peter into a tight embrace. “God, I was so worried.” He sighs. “I thought that fuckin’ plane was gonna get you.” 

“It’ll take more than a jet to get me, Harls.” He replies softly. 

They get to taking a headcount, and Peter has to draw back his helmet in order to vomit onto a pile of rubble when it’s done. Out of more than six hundred people in the column, forty-seven survived. Four days later, after evacuating thousands more from various parts of the city, Beijing falls to rebel forces, and the Avengers leave behind the horrors of the Second Chinese Civil War. 

**+**

The first time they have sex, the first time either of them have sex period, is on a warm July night. Since the two of them have gotten together, Harley and Peter have spent more nights than not sharing the bed in Peter’s room, though nothing really happened beyond plenty of heated makeout sessions. One evening, however, as the last rays of the sunset fade away and the moon begins to weakly shine over the Avengers Headquarters, the boys find themselves on Peter’s bedspread, their forms intertwined as tightly as they can be, while trading quiet kisses and murmured sweet nothings. 

“So beautiful,” Harley croons as he kisses down the column of Peter’s neck, “You drive me wild, darlin’.” 

He arches into the touch, groaning softly as his blood begins to boil. Harley knows just what his accent does to him, and he’ll always ham it up for Peter when they’re like this. “You’re nothing but trouble, Keener.”

“Heh, you love it.” He retorts. 

He doesn’t reply, but instead uses that enhanced strength of his to flip the two of them over, pressing down on Harley so that they’re flush to one another and so that he can feel just how much Peter loves that accent of his. Usually, by this point, they’ll naturally cool it down a bit, lower the boil to a simmer, but this time, Harley’s hands drift up Peter’s shirt, and run along the miles of burning hot skin they find there before urging it up and off, breaking their kiss just long enough to do so before he wraps his legs around his waist and urges him closer.

The prelude is measured in key moments for them both. The revelation of parts of themselves that neither has seen before, the way that Peter wraps his hands around the both of them, the way Harley draws out loud moans from his lover by nipping at the crux of his neck, the surety in both of their eyes as Peter pulls out the tube of lubricant from his bedside table.

Then, he’s there, pushing into Harley as gently as he can, muttering about how good he is, how beautiful and wonderful and fundamentally _good_ he really is, and Harley is canting his hips, urging him deeper, faster, harder. Peter makes love to him sweet and gentle, like he’s awestruck by the treasure that’s held in his arms, and when he presses into him one final time, he meets Harley’s eyes as he comes. 

**+**

A lot happens in those intervening years. Morgan grows up beautiful and brilliant and destined to one day exceed everything her loved ones could’ve ever even imagined. Bruce and the Hulk finally come to some super fucking weird agreement that results in a big green guy with Bruce’s voice and brains. Thor and Helen Cho finally end years of dancing around one another, solidifying their relationship and never looking back. The world somehow manages to come back from the complete brink, but there’s still an aching, ragged hole in the collective chests of humanity from where half of their number have been ripped away with a single snap. 

The Avengers as a whole become a family in the way they never were before all of the horror and loss, and it’s not easy. Steve reckons with feelings for Bucky he’d never even been able to process, and Natasha goes through endless grief when they realize that Clint isn’t gone, but that he’s become something hard and dangerous. They all try to cope with the loss, and, for the most part, start to succeed.

Then, one day, Scott Lang shows up babbling about the Quantum Realm, and it all comes to a head.

**+**

**Seven Years After the Decimation**

Harley and Peter would hear nothing of sending the Stones back. They reasoned, if their universe could go five entire years without any of them, then the six alternate realities, which only came to exist because of their intercession in the first place, could last without one of them. Besides, in each of those universes, without all six Stones, Thanos would never be able to execute his master plan. And anyway, Harley had a plan of his own.

It took two years of extremely careful calculations and work, as well as the invention of several new types of materials in order to safely disperse the energy of a collection of objects as ungodly powerful as the Infinity Stones. Using them once had nearly crippled Bruce, and had _killed_ Tony. One foul up, and Harley could end up stuck in an alternate reality, or wiped from existence entirely, or just plain dead. 

But he’s sure that this will work. The simulations and the calculations all say that it’ll work, and if it does, then it will change _everything._ The ability to safely use the Stones would mean that any danger, any challenge, anything that should ever arise to threaten the universe again, could be wiped away by a snap.

The quest to undo the Decimation cost Harley more than most. He didn’t just lose the man he saw as his father, but the woman who he considered his big sister, and he figures that is as good a place as any to begin this. The new gauntlet is finished, sleek and beautiful and designed to disperse any backlash from the Stones, and all that is left to do is give it a test. 

With trepidation in his heart, he removes each of the Stones from their secure storage in the facility, and one by one lets them glide into place on the glove. When the Time Stone takes its place on the back of the hand, there’s a great rumble of energy, but it all disperses around him without so much as a tingle across his skin. 

_“Please let this work.”_ He whispers, and then, without further ado, he snaps his fingers. Not even a twinge of pain.

Behind him, there’s the sudden sound of two people blipping back into existence.

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, I _loathe_ the name Iron Lad and will reject it unto my dying breath. Was it sappy? Yes? Did I complete undo the Russo's work in killing off Tony? Yes. Do I regret anything? Only the fact that this was supposed to be like five thousand words max. Drop a review!


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